seemed to stand
listening, rather than in thought, and he continued his reply as if he
were scarcely aware of his own words. It was as if a voice from the
past was speaking through his lips. The words came with no conscious
effort; rather were they the dread outpourings of an inherent fester in
his soul. His father's blood was in the full ascendancy at last.

"There's an old pick on the table--Bill had it prospecting." he said.

XXVIII

Bill's eyes were considerably better when he wakened--full in the
daylight. The warm wet cloths had taken part of the inflammation out of
them, and when he strained to open the lids, he was aware of a little,
dim gleam of light. He couldn't make out objects, however, and except
for a fleeting shadow he could not discern the hand that he swept before
his face. Several days and perhaps weeks would pass before the full
strength of his sight returned.

His greatest hope at present was that he could grope his way about the
cabin and build a fire for Virginia. Whether she wished to get up or
not to-day, the growing chill in the room must be removed. He got up,
fumbled on the floor for such of his outer garments as Virginia had
removed, and after a world of difficulty managed to get them on. He was
amazingly refreshed by the night's sleep and Virginia's nursing. His
eyes throbbed, of course; his muscles were lame and painful, his head
ached and his arms and legs seemed to be dismembered, yet he knew that
complete recovery was only a matter of hours.

Building the fire, however, was a grievous task. He felt it incumbent
upon him to move with utmost caution so that Virginia would not waken.
By groping about the walls he encountered the stove. It was pleasantly
warm to his hands, and when he opened the door he found that hot coals
were still glowing in the ashes. Then he fumbled about the floor for
such fuel as Harold had provided.

He found a piece at last, and soon a cheery crackle told him that it had
ignited. He grinned with delight at the thought that he, almost stone
blind, had been able to build a fire in a room with a sleeping girl and
not waken her. But his joy was a trifle premature. At that instant he
tripped over a piece of firewood and his hands crashed against the logs.

"Oh, blast my clumsiness!" he whispered; then stood still as death to
see what had befallen. Virginia stirred behind her curtain.

"Is that you, Harold?" she asked.

She was wide awake